


love's a hand-me-down brew

by dogworldchampion



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: F/M, Pregnancy, alright shameless fluff here, charles being a lovable weirdo, hard cases
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-05
Updated: 2017-05-17
Packaged: 2018-10-28 05:27:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10824723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dogworldchampion/pseuds/dogworldchampion
Summary: This case is too hard. Amy Santiago is tired, nauseous, and lightheaded, and she's never missed anything more than she misses her high-power electric toothbrush. This case is impossible, and Charles' antics aren't helping.---“Go away, Charles,” Jake says without looking away from Amy.“Alllright, lovebirds,” Charles replies smugly, and he actually walks away.Jake pulls his now-angry girlfriend into a hug and whispers, “Charles sucks. But don’t worry – I’ll get you more coffee on my break, okay? First chance I get.”Amy looks up at Jake to thank him, but before she can form the words, he puts a hand over her mouth, gently forcing her face back towards his chest. “Dude, your breath is rank. That’s it – I’m bringing you the San-tooth-iago 3000 tonight.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> title from "black coffee" by ella fitzgerald
> 
> alright. i have 0 perspective for how this turned out, so let me know - either in the comments or at dogworldchampion on tumblr!!

A string of armed robberies, with three associated deaths, has kept Amy Santiago at the precinct for three days straight. Her hair is shiny with grease, and deodorant is no longer sufficient. She can _feel_ the grime on her teeth – a travel toothbrush in Babylon isn’t cutting it anymore. At this point, she misses her high-power, customized electric toothbrush, sitting dry and unused in her bathroom at home, more than she misses the mattress she usually shares with her boyfriend.

Said boyfriend has been amazing, bringing her coffee and pierogies and fresh suits every day, but she can’t help but feel anger bubble in her stomach every time she sees him. _Jake_ has probably been eating sour gummy worms in bed so that the sugar settles in her empty dent in their mattress. _Jake_ has probably watched the episodes of _Jeopardy!_ she DVRed without her. _Jake_ has probably used her toothbrush because he thinks it makes a funny buzzing noise.

Said boyfriend hid behind her in the briefing room when the case was announced, while she raised her hand high and proud, begging for such a high-profile opportunity. God, she should have known he was the smart one.

Charles, meanwhile, unnoticed by her, had tentatively raised his hand from the table he was sharing with Rosa, who was staring blankly ahead, seeming totally ambivalent about this exciting opportunity to solve a tragic case.

So, instead of spending three days with Jake, whom she loves _so much_ , or with Rosa, her secret best friend, she’s spent it with Charles. She’d even rather spend three days listening to insults from Gina. It’s not that she doesn’t like Jake’s best friend – she does. It’s just that he’s always a bit odd, and he’s been getting weirder.

The longer they’ve been together, the more he stares at her. Frankly, it’s getting a bit creepy. She knows her eyes are bloodshot and her glasses are straight out of the 80’s. She knows that Jake’s NYPD sweatshirt (her absolute favorite, which he dropped off in a bag the morning before when he came into the precinct) is baggy and stained, with holes at the base of the sleeves for him to put his thumbs through. She hasn’t looked this awful since Jake made that bad arrest _years_ ago and she had to wear fat Terry’s old t-shirt.

It doesn’t help that this case has her more run down than she can remember being, maybe ever. It’s been an emotional week – one of the murders was an off-duty beat cop from the 99, who tried to stop the robbery when he happened to walk into the bodega near his building. Tensions have been high, and everyone’s been on edge, adding to the pressure to get this case solved _quickly._

Still, Charles doesn’t need to stare so much, and he can _stop_ looking concerned. She’s _fine._ Just a little feverish. And maybe a bit nauseous. But she’s _fine_.

It’s six in the morning, and her stomach is feeling awful, but she hasn’t eaten a real meal since lunch the day before, when Jake brought her take-out. The leftovers are still in the break room fridge, and she decides it’s probably time for breakfast. Maybe some food will help settle her stomach and make her head stop spinning.

Charles wakes up from his nap and walks into the break room while she’s putting the plate in the microwave. Before he can lapse into a zoned-out stare again, she decides maybe it’s time to talk about something other than the case (it’s been twelve hours since her last real conversation, and she’s getting desperate).

“So, how’s Nikolaj? Is Genevieve doing okay with you being gone this long?”

Charles perks up instantly. “Oh, he’s doing great. Genevieve knows it’s all part of the job, and it makes the hair-washing all the sweeter when we’ve had a few days to let things build up.”

Amy shudders. She’s not sure if she wants to know whether the buildup is sexual excitement or just dirt in Genevieve’s hair.

Charles doesn’t seem to notice, though. “And Nikolaj _loves_ hearing about all the cop stories – I always find a way to make them a bit more interesting than this, of course. He’s at _such_ a fun age, and Kindergarten is really going well for him! Raising him is _such_ a joy!”

Charles is almost too earnest now, trying a bit too hard to sell how amazing child-rearing is, but Amy figures he’s just tired. She found herself talking to Rosa sometime yesterday about how much she misses the way that Jake cooks chicken nuggets, so she gets it.

“Wasn’t he getting bullied?”

“Ah, yes,” Charles seems to rummage in his head for a moment before returning to his previous enthusiasm for parenting, “but you see, it’s making him stronger! And he’s made a friend – Celia can’t smell, so she has no idea that the wolf-pee incident ever happened!”

At this moment, the microwave beeps. Amy eagerly pulls her plate out as Charles continues to talk about Nikolaj’s love of family cooking time and the beauty of having a third family member to join in their weekly farmers’ market outings. As she catches a whiff, her stomach lurches, but she grabs a fork and takes a bite anyway.

The first bite is great. The second is okay. The third is nearly impossible to swallow. As she tries to make herself cut a fourth, she drops the plate and sprints to Babylon, leaving Charles mid-sentence and making sure to lock the door behind her.

All four bites of “breakfast” come up almost as quickly as they went down. She thanks Gina mentally for the gently heated memory foam footrest that she insisted on installing – Amy’s sure that kneeling on the cold tiles retching would be one step short of hell, but this is at least bearable.

She hears Charles knock on the door.

“Amy? Are you okay? I _knew_ Aladdin’s had bad meat! I should have warned you – they don’t even use grass-fed goat!”

“I’m fine, Charles,” she replies, her voice a bit scratchy. “Just coming down with something. Be back in a sec. You should run the data on the bills they stole again – something might have changed overnight.”

She hears him hesitate at the door, then walk back towards the bullpen. She breathes a sigh of relief, which sends her stomach into a tailspin.

A few minutes and lots of deep breaths later, she manages to get off the floor. She flushes the toilet, sprays some of the scented oils that Rosa added to their haven, and heads back towards Charles.

Charles, thankfully, doesn’t acknowledge the episode when she returns. He just turns around and tells her that the program came back empty again – no luck on any of the stolen bills. There’s a deep sense of frustration in his voice – they haven’t had a good lead in exactly 49 hours and 34 minutes. After a few minutes of discussion about their next moves and their strategy for the day, he tells her to go get some sleep – it’s his turn to pore over their limited evidence and her turn to nap.

* * *

Her wakeup, exactly 148 minutes later, is not gentle, but she can’t help but smile anyway. Her goofball of a boyfriend has bounced onto the couch just below her feet, causing the whole thing to creak, and started singing, although a more accurate description might just be shouting.

“Good mooooooorning, Detective Santiago, are your hands and face as clean as miiiiiine? Good moooooooorning, Detective Santiago, I hope you’re feeling fiiiiiine!”

She’s feeling much better than when she went to bed, and her head has stopped spinning. Her mood gets even better when she sees what her boyfriend is holding – a steaming cup of coffee from the coffee shop by their apartment. She could cry she’s so excited for another dose of caffeine.

She’s sitting up, reaching out to simultaneously grab the coffee and kiss him, knowing already he’ll lean away, pretending to be disgusted by her breath before leaning in and kissing her back. Three days ago, she would have been horrified by such a public display of affection. Now, though, she just wants to feel like she’s home for a few precious seconds.

As she props herself up, she sees Charles watching them out of the corner of her eye. _Doesn’t matter_ , she reminds herself as she leans towards the man who is currently her favorite person on the planet – after all, he may be using her toothbrush, but he has _coffee_. Not even cold break room coffee – _good_ coffee.

With her hand mere inches from the steaming cup of life-giving liquid, a squealing blur shoots towards Jake. She’s knocked aside, and she watches helplessly as the coffee clatters to the tile floor and the lid pops off. For a brief moment, the sleep-deprived part of her brain is considering trying to wipe it off the floor and back into the cup, but she shakes it off and turns back to Jake, who is now being given a koala hug by Charles.

“Jake! I missed you! Did you sleep okay without Amy? It’s been so long since you’ve seen her – oh, your reunion will be so sweet!” At that moment, he seems to remember what he interrupted, disentangles himself, and takes a step back. “Sorry! Carry on!”

“Charles.” Amy growls. She’s sure that her death glare in this moment is as scary as anything that Rosa could pull off. “You. Spilled. My. Coffee.”

“Oh, you thought that was for you?” Jake tries to sound surprised, but the crinkles by his eyes give him away, so she just punches him in the shoulder.

“Go away, Charles,” Jake says without looking away from Amy.

“Alllright, _lovebirds,_ ” Charles replies smugly, and he actually walks away.

Jake pulls his now-angry girlfriend into a hug and whispers, “Charles sucks. But don’t worry – I’ll get you more coffee on my break, okay? First chance I get.”

Amy looks up at Jake to thank him, but before she can form the words, he puts a hand over her mouth, gently forcing her face back towards his chest. “Dude, your breath is _rank_. That’s it – I’m bringing you the San-tooth-iago 3000 tonight.” 

* * *

At ten that morning, Jake returns from an easy bust with another coffee in his hands. The moment the elevator opens, she can feel the tension in her shoulders relax. Then, as she sees what’s in his other hand, she almost wiggles in her seat with excitement. What can she say? She’s tired. 

Jake Peralta, despite all his flaws and his penchant for messes and chaos, may be the best boyfriend on the planet because in his left hand, he’s clutching a bag from her favorite deli. She would bet her favorite toothbrush _and_ her nicest cleaning products that it contains a turkey club, freshly toasted and ready to be consumed by a starving, miserable detective who hasn’t had a solid meal in 21 hours and 46 minutes (not that anyone’s counting).

Charles has looked up from his conversation, too. Scully keeps droning on – Charles had asked about a crime Scully had solved back in the 80s that has some strange parallels to the current string of robberies – but Charles has frozen. Then, he interrupts Scully and whispers something Amy can’t hear. Scully gets up and lumbers towards Jake, intercepting him mere feet from Amy’s growling stomach and caffeine headache.

“Jakey! You brought me a midmorning snack!”

“What? No! I bought this – get your own food!” Jake tries to pull the sandwich out of Scully’s reach, but it’s too late. Before he can really react, the sandwich is out of the bag and halfway into Scully’s mouth, wrapper and all.

Jake is frozen, jaw dropped, as Scully tears the paper with his teeth to get another bite. His bare feet are covered in peeling skin, and the smell, combined with the smell of the turkey sandwich wafting to her on the air conditioned air, is enough to make anyone gag. Amy swallows hard and notices that Scully has grabbed the coffee out of Jake’s other hand and is gulping it down like a college freshman chugging a beer – messy and way too fast.

The last time she saw Jake this confused was during the episode of _How It’s Made_ where he learned that horse hooves are used to make Jell-O. Scully, meanwhile, is in hog heaven.

This whole episode can’t last more than ten seconds – then Scully is done, handing Jake back the bag and the empty coffee cup, lid removed.

Jake plops down in his chair and hands Amy the bag of chips Scully didn’t notice at the bottom of the bag. “Sorry, dude.”

“Happens to the best of us – we should work on your reflexes, though. You have to be able to beat Scully.”

Charles walks by, looking suspiciously happy and unapologetic. “Sorry, guys! I tried to stop him! Amy, when you have a sec, I think we might have an actual lead!”

“He’s getting weird,” Amy tells Jake with an eye roll. “Can I send him home to Genevieve for a while? I think all his weirdness is getting pent up and unleashed on me at random times of night.”

“Honestly, you might have to send him to Lynn for a few days – this might be too much for even Genevieve to handle. And what if Nikolaj is in the room? We can’t be responsible for scarring a child like that!”

* * *

Amy joins Charles in the break room, where he’s settled at the table so he can spread out all of the various papers outlining a string of B&Es from Scully’s early years on the force, all with the same calling card as the more recent armed robberies. Every single time, five shots in the wall in a perfect circle. 

Before she sits down, she starts the coffee maker. It may be old, and the coffee may be weak and undrinkable, but it’s better than nothing.

Amy can only half-concentrate on the theory that Charles has outlined in front of her. She’s a caffeine addict at the best of times, and she’s now approaching a full day since her last fix. She feels her headache disappearing, however, as Charles keeps talking. Amy is getting increasingly excited as she sees that they have a coherent theory, and thus a list of suspects. Patterns begin to emerge, and only a few minutes later, they have a list of suspects and are beginning to work on possible locations.

When the coffeemaker beeps a few minutes later, Amy barely notices. She’s busy with a piece of scrap paper, scrawling out a list of connections between the locations and the small band of suspects. This was her first mistake.

Charles gets up to get it for her, and it’s only as his chair scrapes back that she remembers that he’s already ruined two cups of coffee for her today. She tries to protest, but it’s too late. Charles is pouring coffee into a mug when the handle snaps. The pot falls, glass shattering on the floor as coffee sprays across the room.

Amy shakes off the coffee droplets that hit her face, caffeine headache back in full force now that she’s been distracted from the work.

“CHARLES!” she screams. She hasn’t been this mad since her brother Mateo spray painted the walls of their shared room when she was six, getting flecks of blue paint in _all_ of her dolls’ hair.

Rosa and Gina appear in the door of the break room, looking interested. “Ooooh, a quarrel,” Gina says. She pulls out her phone and begins filming.

Rosa crosses her arms as she leans against the door frame. “Damn, Santiago, what’d he do?”

“HE BROKE THE COFFEEMAKER.”

“Wow, Amy. I’m a little impressed – you’re almost intimidating!” Gina raises her eyebrows, seeming genuinely interested in how this plays out.

Charles, meanwhile, is looking terrified. Amy is sure she must look insane, but she can’t bring herself to care. She stalks over to him and grabs him by the shirt. Rosa cheers and Gina gasps as she glares down at her slightly shorter friend.

“I swear to God, Charles, if you ruin one more cup of coffee for me, someone will have to arrest me because _you’ll. be. dead._ ” She holds onto his shirt for another few seconds and then stalks out, feeling only a little guilty as he squeaks and smooths out his shirt behind her.

* * *

Ten hours after that, they’ve made their bust. The robbers were hiding out in a closet on the top floor of a local building owned by the ringleader. Guns were drawn, but no shots were fired, and they’re finally done. 

By all standards, it was a fairly routine bust. Even if Charles was unbelievably twitchy as they put on their Kevlar vests to go in and squealed out loud when a gun was pointed at Amy.

Amy’s last stop before she goes home to crash is Shaw’s, for a celebratory drink with the squad. Holt is visibly proud of her, which almost makes up for the sheer exhaustion that is clouding her head. He shakes her hand firmly and _nods approvingly_ – enough validation to last her a month, easy.

Beer in hand, Amy leaves Holt and walks over to Charles to congratulate him. It was his idea to talk to Scully, a shockingly brilliant move she never would have considered.

Before she can open her mouth, he cuts her off. “Ooh, that’s my favorite kind of beer!” he exclaims, pointing at her drink. “Can I have some?”

“Charles, you hate the entire premise of beer. You always say it’s not worth downing piss when you could have a mojito instead.”

“Yes, but _that_ beer looks great!” His voice is weirdly high pitched, and he squeaks as she takes a sip. She snaps and drags him outside, handing her beer to Jake as she passes him.

When the door to Shaw’s swings shut behind them, she turns to confront her boyfriend’s best friend.

“What is _up_ with you, man? You’ve been weird – _weirder_ than normal – for two days now, and I’m about to _lose_ it!”

Charles is weirdly confident in the face of an angry friend on the verge of punching him. “Amy, you have to protect and nurture the rich broth of amniotic fluid being generated inside you at this very moment. Improper nutrition is like a bad herb – it ruins the whole thing and hurts the baby! You’d never put carrots in marrow broth!”

“What does my liquid consumption have to do with marrow broth?” Amy tried to follow, but she’s thoroughly lost.

“Amy, that sip of beer will be crossing the placenta in a few short hours! The beer is the carrots, and your baby’s about to eat that bad broth! And no caffeine or cold cuts, either! You have to protect that ute, girl, and you’ve broken basically every rule! It’s been up to me to keep baby Peraltiago safe, and that’s been hard! Do you have any _idea_ how many times your eating habits and work decisions have put it in danger today _alone_? There were guns! And cold cuts!”

“ _Charles!_ ” she cuts him off, disgusted. “How many times do we have to go over the no-talking-about-my-uterus rule? _And_ the no-calling-it-a-ute rule?”

He stares at her for a few seconds, waiting for her to catch up with him. He can tell when it hits – her eyes go wide and her frown deepens.

“I’m not pregnant, Charles!”

“Mhmm…” Charles has relaxed his position, crossing his arms and looking self-satisfied as he does his best insinuating tone.

“I’m _not_! Trust me – I’d know!”

“Alright! Don’t trust your resident reproductive health expert, _new mama_. Your call!” He turns around and heads back inside, ignoring her as she calls out one more denial at his back.

 _God, he’s the worst,_ she thinks as she returns inside to convince Jake it’s time to go home and finally brush her teeth.

* * *

Holt gives Amy and Charles the next few days off, to rest up and return to normalcy. Jake and Rosa take care of the rest of the processing, tracking down a few stray accomplices and building a case. 

When Charles returns to work, exactly seven days after he first volunteered for the hell case, he sees a pink sticky note on his computer. It contains only four words in extremely recognizable handwriting, which looks more like typeface than a real person’s script.

_You were right. -Amy_


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello hello i just couldn't stay away. tell me what you think - comments or @dogworldchampion on tumblr!!

Amy Santiago is wringing her hands as she nervously paces back and forth across the tiles of Babylon. Her stomach churns slightly as she moves, but not so badly she has to stop. It hits her all at once, then, the connection between the stomach that feels like she’s moving down a rollercoaster at full speed and the stick developing on a paper towel on the counter. She knew it academically, of course. After all, the constant nausea is a big part of the reason she’s here right now. But all of a sudden, everything is concrete and _way too real_. Her hand jumps involuntarily to her still-flat stomach as she stops and leans against the wall, trying to slow her breathing.

Less than 30 seconds later, someone tries the doorknob. She panics for a moment – it’s almost an hour before the morning briefing, and no one else is _ever_ here this early – before remembering with a sigh of relief that she locked it. Then, a knock.

“Hey, who’s in here?” comes a deep bark that Amy knows to be Rosa’s. “I _will_ kick this door down if I have to.”

Amy stops breathing entirely, and she can hear her heart pounding the inside of her ribs. There’s a second of silence, and then two. She knows she should say something to dissuade Rosa, but her nerves are frayed and she doesn’t entirely trust her voice.

Before she can gather herself, the timer on her phone starts screaming the _Jeopardy!_ theme song, letting her know her five minutes is up. It startles her, and she nearly drops the phone in the toilet as she fumbles for the off switch.

“Santiago?” Rosa’s bark has softened a bit, now that she knows Hitchcock and Scully didn’t break their pact and return to the most luxurious bathroom of any police precinct in Brooklyn.

Amy takes a fraction of a second to silently curse her choice in ringtones. “Yep! It’s me – Amy! Just chillin’ – you know how I be!” Amy winces as the words leave her mouth. They’re far too high, far too loud, far too awkward. She just blew her cover.

“Um…you good?”

“Yes, Rosa. I am well.” Her voice is deep and monotonous, emulating Holt’s. For the only time in her life, Amy is disappointed she sounds like her idol and mentor. _Fuck,_ she thinks, _too far the other way. Rosa’s kicking down the door now._

A pause. Then, “Alright.” And the sound of Rosa’s boots clicking on the cheap linoleum of the precinct floor as she returns to the bullpen.

Amy breathes a sigh of relief and starts to slide down the wall to the floor. Then, she stops, half standing, because she remembers what the timer meant. Two feet away, turned face-down, she has her answer.

 

* * *

 

_Amy’s alarm is screeching at her, and for one of the first times in her life, the sound does not immediately fill her with energy and excitement for the day of work ahead. All she wants is to roll back over and sleep for another year, at least. The only redeeming factor in this early morning is the warm lump whose legs are tangled up in hers, one arm flung across her shoulder, as though he turned around to hug her in his sleep._

_The lump is moving, groaning a little bit, and Amy regrets disturbing it as she turns to slam on her alarm and make the sound stop. Her stomach twinges a bit as she moves – whatever bug she picked up working this weekend must still be working its way out of her system._

_“Hey, babe,” the lump mumbles at her. She turns around and nuzzles closer to it, reveling in the warmth and the softness of clean sheets (in the back of her head somewhere, she realizes that this means Jake did laundry sometime that weekend while she was at work, probably because he knew how much she enjoys exactly this feeling)._

_“Hey,” she replies, her voice scratchy with sleep, just above a whisper. She laughs as his face darts out of the covers to kiss her nose, and she catches him as he withdraws to plant a much better kiss on his lips. They both stay motionless for a few moments, reveling in the stillness of the early morning. After a few seconds that Amy would stretch into eternity if she could, Jake moves first, pressing a hand to her lower back and moving his lips against hers to deepen their chaste kiss._

This is nice, _some muddled part of the back of her brain notes, but mostly she’s not thinking anything. She’s enjoying the warmth and comfort of a morning like this – it’s only been five days since she last woke up this way, but it feels like an eternity. That is, until the alarm behind her on her nightstand starts screaming at her again, the snooze over. It startles her, and she jerks back, managing to knock the alarm off the nightstand and knee Jake in the stomach all at the same time._

_Batteries clatter to the floor, and she can hear Jake trying to laugh when all the breath has been knocked from his lungs next to her, but that’s all pushed aside by a wave of nausea that storms through her abdomen and threatens to overwhelm her._

_“You good?” Jake laughs, finally gaining back his breath, but she’s not. She’s out the door in a flash, sprinting to the toilet down the hall. Before Jake can move, Amy’s kneeling over the toilet, her stomach violently rejecting the remnants of the pizza they’d enjoyed last night after they got home from Shaw’s._

_“So…not good?” he asks as he comes up behind her, pulling her tousled hair back into a ponytail with a scrunchie he grabbed from the bathroom counter._

_Amy takes a deep breath and leans back against the wall. “I’m fine – I think I picked something up during the case, and it’s not out of my system yet.”_

_He looks concerned, so she keeps talking. “Really, I’m_ fine _. You should start getting ready for work – you’ll be late otherwise.”_

 _“Do I_ have _to go?” he whines. “You’re not! And you’re sick! Don’t you need someone to take care of you?”_

_“Jake, it’s a Tuesday, and I’m fine. Yes, you have to go to work.”_

_“My earlier point stands._ You’re _not going, and if Amy Santiago isn’t going to work, no one should be.”_

_“I spent 107 hours and 22 minutes at work in the past five days. I’ve earned this.”_

 

* * *

 

 

Amy dwells on the memory of more blissful times in bed with Jake while she rummages in her desk for a pad of Post-Its. She can’t believe that that was only two days ago – two days ago, she thought this was all a stomach bug she’d picked up because she was _too tired._ She misses that, a little bit.

It’s not that she’s not excited. It’s just…complicated, and her brain, ever the skeptic, is not entirely convinced it’s really happening. Right now, she doesn’t have time to sort that out. There’s paperwork to do and suspects to question and a case to build – the bust she and Charles led three days ago may have ended the insane manhunt, but it started an absolute deluge of paperwork. Jake had tried to take care of it for her while she was at home sleeping off the worst five days of work in history, but he’d really only worsened the situation. Now, she had a stack of incorrect forms and reports riddled with spelling errors. Which, she realizes, on any other day would have her over the moon.

As she scrawls across the bright pink surface of the sticky note, she grimaces – not only is her handwriting messy (Jake would tell her it was literally printed off a computer, but she can see that the loop on the _y_ is too fat, and the bottom of the _w_ is far less rounded than it should be), but she can’t believe that Charles will know before Jake does.

All she wants is to tell Jake. But she wants to tell him right – not just pulling him aside in the evidence locker and dropping the bomb (although they do have a solid track record with that method, too). She wants them to have time to react and talk and celebrate and plan together. She knows Jake will be over the moon, and she wants to savor that moment with him for more than the 30 seconds that their absence could go unnoticed.

Charles, though. Charles knew before she did. Charles deserves to know this piece of information. She just hopes he gets the message and keeps his chill – she’s making this literally as low-key as she can manage. She’s lucky that Jake isn’t here yet – she left early to take the test on the pretense of having a meeting with a witness, and he’s – predictably – late. If Charles gets up and runs to Jake when the elevator doors open screaming, “Papa Peralta!” she might actually murder him. She still owes Charles some pain for all those spilled coffees, even if she’s now glad he was coffee-blocking her.

Thinking about coffee has her rubbing her temples absentmindedly. Even on a perfectly reasonable eight hours of sleep, she can feel the caffeine deprivation. This is going to be a _long_ nine months.

 

**From:** **cboyle@nypd.org**

**To: asanti@nypd.org**

**Subject: !!!!!!!!!!!!!!! AAAAHHHH DREAMS DO COME TRUE !!!!! :’)))))))**

The email sits at the top of her inbox, less than 30 minutes after she posted the note on his computer and less than 30 seconds after he walked over to his desk and dropped his bag. She saw his face contort into expressions that even Jake’s remarkably malleable face couldn’t manage as he did his best to keep his cool. Then, he sat down and slammed so hard on his keyboard she was worried he would break it. Then, this arrived.

She clicks to open it, already sure it will worsen the caffeine headache that has escalated since her body realized that she actually _won’t_ be having that nine o’clock latte.

 

**Ohmy GODNESSS, AMY. THIS IS EVERTHING IVE EVRE HOPE DFOR. THANK YUO SO MUCH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!**

**Have you told jake?????????????????????**

She has to laugh at her excitable friend’s typos – he couldn’t even get out a coherent email. She’s almost worried his heart will give out. She glances over out of the corner of her eye to see Charles’ eyes glistening, literally full of tears, as he stares off into space contemplating the knowledge that was just confirmed for him. 

She rolls her eyes as she types out a reply. She smiles a little bit, too – the excitement is rubbing off on her, and Charles celebrating is helping it feel a little bit more real. She resists reaching down towards her stomach, though, worried that the ever-perceptive Gina or Rosa, who already has reason to be alert, might catch on. Charles is doing a fine job of attracting attention on his own.

 

**From: asanti** **@nypd.org**

**To: cboyle@nypd.org**

**Subject: Re:** **!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! AAAAHHHH DREAMS DO COME TRUE !!!!! :’)))))))**

**I know! It’s kind of crazy!**

**Please, please don’t tell Jake, Charles. I’m going to tell him tonight, and I want him to hear it from me first. It’s important. I wanted you to know, though, since you clued me in (thanks for that!). Just, be chill. Please.**

**\--Amy**

 

* * *

 

Jake arrives 10 minutes after Charles, at exactly 9:07 AM. He’s only 7 minutes late, a reasonably impressive feat for the man who was once so late that he was three minutes early in Central Time. 

In his right hand is a drink holder, one with a small black coffee and one with the most beautiful-looking cup of cold brew that Amy’s ever seen. She recognizes the label – that’s an _expensive_ one, too. (She ignores the fact that his card is connected to their joint bank account, which contains mostly her money. The gesture was sweet.)

He sweeps some toys off his desk and onto the floor to make room for his gift, drops his bag with a loud thud, picks up her coffee, and walks around to her. With a flourish, he presents the coffee, adopting his best British accent as he says, “Your drugs, m’lady.”

“Oh, thank God my dealer’s back – withdrawals are a bitch,” she laughs back as she takes it. The straw is halfway to her mouth when she sees Charles’ look of horror over Jake’s shoulder.

Then, she remembers. _Goddammit_.

She redirects the cup down onto a coaster by her computer, her face falling a little flat while a furrow appears between her brows. Her stomach, still sensitive, seems to flip of its own volition, almost as though it’s making sure she hasn’t forgotten.

“What’s wrong? I didn’t lace it with anything!” At her look of confusion, Jake adds, “Y’know, like there’s no chocolate syrup hiding in there! No drugs, either, though. Totally normal cup of coffee!”

More than anything, Amy wants to shout, “I’m pregnant!” But they have work to do. _Just a few more hours._ Assuming she can keep the secret that long.

Amy is careful to modulate her voice. Jake knows her way better than Rosa, and there’s no wall separating them. Cursing her overly expressive face, Amy replies far too quickly, “No, yeah! I’m sure it’s great! I’m gonna go read some case files and…enjoy the coffee over there!”

She gets up, grabs the coffee and a random case case file off top of a neat stack on the corner of her desk, and sprints to the break room.

Jake looks confused. He turns to his best friend, who was watching the exchange with a small smile and tears in his eyes. “Charles? Is she okay? She didn’t have coffee this morning at home, and that was _weird_.”

“Yeah, she’s fine! Great!” Charles’ voice is rising in pitch with every word, his tone laced with panic. “She just had to, you know, check that file!”

“It was a closed case from two weeks ago.”

“Yeah, well, it was important! Top secret! Gangs! Murder!”

And with that, Charles is out of his chair like a bullet, following Amy and slamming the door behind him.

Jake looks questioningly at Rosa, who was watching the exchange silently from her desk. She shrugs as a means of answering his silent query. He’s had a lot of weird conversations with both Charles and Amy in his life – _in fact_ , he decides as he settles into his desk to work, _that was probably only in, like, the 30 th percentile on the weirdness scale. A pretty normal day, actually_.

  

* * *

 

 

Amy and Charles spend nearly an hour hiding in the break room, pretending to pore over the case Amy grabbed. Jake was right – it was open and shut – but they were so desperate to create work that Charles was actually briefly convinced the simple mugging was deeply connected to the underbelly of the Estonian mob (“By far the _worst_ of the Eastern European mob networks, Amy! Don’t dismiss the _rahvahulk_!). Fortunately, Jake _finally_ leaves for a stakeout, taking Rosa with him and permitting Amy to return to her desk without risk of spilling her secret.

Less than an hour after that, attached to a completely unrelated email, Amy finds a charming note from Detective Boyle:

 

**From:** **cboyle@nypd.org**

**To: asanti@nypd.org**

**Subject: 12/14/17 Arrests**

The first three paragraphs of the email are entirely normal – lists of suggestions and things that need to be done by the end of the week in order for the prosecutors to move forward with the case.

The P.S., though, is what gets her.

 

**P.S. Have you told Jake yet? The suspense is KILLING me!**

She types out a quick reply before starting an email to the DA’s office about how to proceed. 

Before she can even enter the email address, though, another email from Charles is at the top of her inbox.

 

**From:** **cboyle@nypd.org**

**To:** **asanti@nypd.org**

**Subject: Re: 12/14/17 Arrests**

**So what he’s been gone for an hour?? CELL PHONES EXIST FOR A REASON AMY!**

**From:** **asanti@nypd.org**

**To:** **cboyle@nypd.org**

**Subject: Re: 12/14/17 Arrests**

**Remember the part where I was going to tell him tonight? Get back to work. We have a lot to do before tomorrow afternoon.**

**From:** **cboyle@nypd.org**

**To: asanti@nypd.org**

**Subject: Re: 12/14/17 Arrests**

**IT’S NEVER TOO EARLY TO TELL HIM, AMY.**

**Speaking of which, do you know how you’re going to tell him? Mid-intercourse would be sexy – or mid-hair washing! You could always hire a skywriter – I’m sure there’s at least one available, although you’re pushing it kind of late. Maybe a puppy?**

**From:** **asanti@nypd.org**

**To:** **cboyle@nypd.org**

**Subject: Re: 12/14/17 Arrests**

**…I’ve got it, Boyle. I have a plan. Now _please_ focus. **

* * *

 

That night, Amy Santiago pauses outside her door, juggling her bag and two white Styrofoam takeout boxes. Jake beat her home – Charles was far too distracted to help her finish the paperwork. She tried reminding him that she was the pregnant one, but that invariably started a fresh round of tears, and she decided it was easier to leave him be and do it herself. 

Her heart is racing, and she can’t seem to make it stop. _There’s no reason to be anxious_ , she tries to remind herself. _You know he’ll be thrilled. So take a deep breath and go get ‘em, tiger._

One deep breath. One more. Maybe another two.

Three minutes of deep breaths later, Amy turns her key in the latch and walks in to find her boyfriend already in sweats on the couch. The Knicks game is on, and he’s thoroughly engrossed, bathed in blue light in the otherwise-dark apartment – clearly he was too distracted to notice the sun setting outside.

The room smells of pad Thai, and she looks around for the source. There, on the counter, are two takeout boxes identical to the ones she’s balancing in her hands. _Fuck. This’ll make her plans harder._

One more deep breath, and she turns on the hall light.

This brings her boyfriend out of his trance. Jake looks up and finds her, his eyes adjusting to the sudden light, and he smiles. “Hey, Ames!”

“Hey!” she replies, perhaps a bit too bright. Her smile isn’t forced, though. It’s growing slowly, blooming across her face. Her stomach may be a knot of anxiety about disrupted plans and her boyfriend’s still-moderately-crushing debt, but she still can’t wait to share this with him. “I brought us takeout!”

“Oh no – I already ordered us Thai. I was just really feeling drunken noodles tonight. Put yours in the fridge and we can eat it tomorrow!”

Amy sighs, trying to force her shoulders to relax as she hangs her bag on its designated hook by the door. Jake’s is, predictably, on the floor, with contents spilling out because he failed to zip it before dropping it on his way in. She feels a brief tide of affection for the predictability, but it quickly dissipates, leaving a racing pulse and vague nausea at the sheer number of different ways . Although, on second thought, maybe the nausea is the fault of the tiny peanut growing inside her abdomen. _Wasn’t morning sickness supposed to stick to…you know…mornings?_ a small part of her brain wonders, and she files it away on a list of things to Google later.  

“Nah, I’d rather eat mine tonight, babe. I’ll stick the Thai in the fridge.” Her voice isn’t shaking, she’s relieved to notice.

“Aw, come on!” It’s hard to tell if he’s reacting to the TV or to her. For possibly the millionth time, she makes a mental note to learn how basketball works so she can distinguish between the two. Then, he adds, “What’d you bring?”

“Come see.”

“Amy! The game! This is important! Just tell me!”

Her voice is getting strained with the effort of not spilling the beans. It’s as though she has to physically restrain herself from letting those two life-changing words slip. “Come on, Jake.”

“Why are you being so weird? It’s been like this all day – what’s up?” A beat. Then, in panic, “Are you breaking up with me?”

Worry floods Amy’s system at the thought he might really be expecting a breakup – before she can even form a coherent _no_ , she’s babbling a nonsensical string of denials. Then, he turns, and she sees his face – contorted into the most fake look of horror she’s ever seen. He can only hold the face for a few seconds before he breaks, his laughter filling the room and shocking Amy out of her panic, so that she laughs with him.

She walks over to the couch and mutes the game. Something in her eyes must tell Jake to pay attention because instead of protesting, he shifts his entire torso so that he’s facing her, a question mark written in every line of his face. Still chuckling at her goofball of a boyfriend, she hands him the top of the two takeout boxes.

He opens the top box slowly. Inside, there are three carefully positioned dinosaur chicken nuggets: two big ones bracketing a mini one in the middle. Fries laid carefully across the bottom and held together with ketchup create the illusion of grass. Above them, the word _Congratulations_ is written in more ketchup in Amy’s perfect script.

“Aw, yeeeeeeeees! Celebratory chicken nuggets! Way better than noodles for celebration – this is awesome, Ames! I’m so pumped – Saturday, right? Also, can I still eat my takeout? Three chicken nuggets isn’t very much, babe.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Jake sees her tensing up, sees the other white box, presumably her own chicken nuggets, start to shake. He puts down the largest dinosaur nugget, inches from his mouth, and hands her his still-unopened beer.

“You okay? You look like you need a drink.” Concern lines Jake’s face as he tries to read Amy’s emotions. Usually an open book, Amy’s face has clammed up, and he can’t quite tell what emotions are playing out under her nervous smile, now fading.

“Jake…”

“Yeah?”

“I can’t have a beer?” There’s true confusion in her voice now, tinged with the tightness that usually only manifests during her most stressful cases.

He’s truly lost now – worse than when she tried to teach him how to do Sudoku, and that lesson left him with a headache that lasted for days. “What?”

“I’m…pregnant? You can’t have alcohol when you’re pregnant, Jake.” She seems to shrink back as she says it. The reaction she’d been so sure of all day, the excitement that she was sure would assuage her own fears about her now-uncertain future, hadn’t materialized. And what was he talking about on Saturday? A small part of her wanted to cry.

She watches as his face goes from confusion to shock to excitement. It’s a remarkably slow transition – his processing of her words is literally visible on his face. She can see when it finally sinks all the way in. His eyes crinkle, and a grin spreads across his cheeks.

Slowly, deliberately, he puts down his takeout container and grabs the still-closed one in her hand, placing it gently on the coffee table next to them. “You’re…pregnant?”

“Yes, Jake. The beer?...The chicken nuggets?” Her voice is a bit stronger now, if still confused.

She can see as understanding dawns on his face. “Oh my God, the chicken nuggets! I get it! It was you, me, and a baby! A dinosaur family! A real life dino family! Jake and Amy and baby triceratops make three!” The excitement in his voice is palpable, and his words are growing quicker, so that he’s almost tripping over them in his haste to spit them out.

“Um…yes? What did you think it was?”

“I thought we were going to the Natural History Museum. You know…dinosaurs? To celebrate you solving the case? Last time you had a big solve we went to the Met?”

Jake watches the love of his life close her eyes, throw back her head, and laugh out loud. It’s a beautiful sound, absolutely his number one favorite. He’d rather listen to this than Taylor Swift, and that’s saying something.

A few seconds later, Amy takes a deep breath and looks back at her boyfriend, now staring in awe at her stomach.

“You’re really pregnant?”

Amy’s still nodding when he leans in to kiss her, his arms cradling her far more gently than she’s ever felt before, as though he’s newly scared she might break. She brings one hand to his cheek, the other reaching for his hair as she deepens the kiss. She can feel his smile through it – even kissing her can’t wipe the grin off his face entirely. He startles her, though, when only a few seconds later he jerks back, realization dawning on his face. “ _That’s_ why you were sick!”

“Yes, Jake.”

“And is this why you were being so weird today?”

“Yes.” She’s enjoying this – watching him work through all the little inconsistencies of the past few days that he’d brushed off when they happened.

“Why was Charles being weird, then?” A beat. “He _knew?_ ” Jake looks horrified. “ _Charles_ knew about John-McClane-Amy, Jr., before I did?!”

“Yeah,” Amy laughs. “He actually figured it out before I did – sometime last week during the Romero case. That’s why he kept knocking over coffees before I could drink them. And we’re…gonna talk about names later. Definitely not that.”

“You’re really pregnant?”

“Open the other box.”

Jake grabs the unopened takeout box, sitting forgotten on the table next to them until this moment. Inside are four positive pregnancy tests, the one from that morning accompanied by three others that she took on bathroom breaks throughout the day (she needed a second opinion, and a third, and a fourth. A fifth is waiting at the bottom of her giant purse.), each carefully contained in sterile evidence bags. His eyes widen as he stares at the concrete proof. Then, he turns back to her. Awe is written in every line of his face as he gazes down at her stomach.

“You’re pregnant! There’s a little alien-baby growing in there! You know what that means?” There’s a knowing smile growing on Jake’s face as he thinks back to a very different time, when the amazing woman in front of him who – _whom_ – he loves so much was nothing more than a hopeless crush disguising herself with a pregnant belly to try to beat him at the Jimmy Jab Games, not knowing he’d lose every game on earth to see her smile like that.

“What? That we have months of planning ahead of us? Think of the binders – we need to go to Office Depot ASAP, babe!”

“No, nerd. It means you had _sex_!” He’s laughing now, and Amy can’t resist joining him.

“Damn right I did! You know what else?” Amy asks him, a gleam in her eye.

“What?”

“I’m gonna do it again.” And with that, she tackles her boyfriend back into the couch as the Knicks game, still muted, goes into halftime.


End file.
